


Sometimes Things Burn

by eonwe_s (SerendipitousSong)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adopted Sibling Relationship, All I want is to write, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Heartbreak, M/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Not too great at languages I'm afraid, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Timeline is probably a little fucked, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerendipitousSong/pseuds/eonwe_s
Summary: He was gone. And, cursed to never be welcomed again in Valinor, our home in the Blessed Lands of the Valar, I would ever walk alone.And though I knew I was soon to follow him from the inside out, or else doomed to face the long and eternal years of my life a grey, empty vessel, a light appeared.I named them for the visions of what they could become, daring to hope the curse of their father's house could be lifted from their heads. And they were called Telraumë and Vanárwië. My children. His children. Our children.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 30





	1. The Flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SolainRhyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolainRhyo/gifts).



**The Flames**

Black rain fell like great drops of blood from a wound on the night of their birth. I lay alone but for my shield-sister Gilwarië, who knelt beside me, and the gleam of Tilion, who searched for the mighty heat of his love across darkened skies. Far beneath us lay the sea, where once there had been the vast kingdoms and settlements of Beleriand which lay now beneath Ulmo's great waters. Still, seams of fire had yet to knit themselves together again, and over us all lay a grief heavy and terrible.

Over me also lay a grief yet more black, for one half of my  _ fëa _ was gone, and the flames of his death had consumed me as he burned far away. Shadow had crept upon me then. I welcomed it, at first, for though our love had been short, it had burned not unlike the agony that tortured me that fateful day, only instead of pain and suffering, it had brought joy and pleasure, both to my spirit and to my body. Our love had been a flame roaring among many fires, passionate to the touch.

But when it ended, and I perceived that my love had perished in flame, and known inside me that he had gone to his death of his own volition, I had wished for my deepest soul to be released from my body and be spared the severance of our bond. Within myself, I was burning once more. The blood beneath my skin mourned, and then boiled, and then scalded me, and my tears were unnumbered, my wails sailing to the corners of the earth.

He was gone. And cursed to never be welcomed again in Valinor, our home in the Blessed Lands of the Valar, I would ever walk alone.

If I could even survive this evaporation of my soul.

And though I knew I was soon to follow him from the inside out, or else doomed to face the long and eternal years of my life an empty vessel, a light appeared. Pure in form and glowing softly, it eased the worst of my pain, and shimmered, weightless, in my heart. Two small, strong, mighty flames had been kindled within me. They fought ferociously against the fire, for they were flames themselves and warmed me as no other had in a long while. From them I gained strength, and endured the vicious process by which many fade into pale, grey faces.

I sensed a warrior, like a shining silver sword, flashing like streams of lightning do across a black cloud of rain. Beside him lay his sister, quiet but furious like the flames around them, and leading the way through the darkness with great lanterns from her hands, feet, and eyes; nothing was hidden from her sight. And together, these two young candles did not go out, for though the fire around them was bright and fierce, they were of the Spirit of Fire themselves, where victory runs in their blood.

I did not feel victorious. But I yet prevailed against both death and driftance, and they too prevailed with me. Or perhaps it was  _ they  _ who were victorious, and I their mother merely spared through my children's great triumph.

However it happened, we lived. And they were born in the night while we raced towards the stronghold of the Peredhel. Our last link to my great, lost love, their brother of a sort, and perhaps my savior.

The cooling glimmer of Telperion's last bloom drifted softly upon the face of both of my children. My daughter, leading the way for her brother, emerged wailing to Eru himself against the darkness and rain, and her hair wrenched a gasp from my sister. Red flashed brightly even though Varda was hidden from us by the storm, and her cries were thunderous.

My son followed her with sure steps, it seemed, for he was birthed not a minute after. As his sister, he wailed, but his presence in  _ Eä  _ calmed her, and when he reached for her, they embraced. Her fire was his reassurance, and his surety was her strength. Together they had fought for life. Together they would be forever and on, bound two  _ fëar _ as one, divided into two vessels.

The Spirit of Fire simmered to a glow within them, and as I held them, panting and in pain unlike even the ripping of my bond to their father, wails diminished to gentle coos, then to sleep. I held my children close and allowed the warmth of our own bond to gather its strength.

For these flames were spawned from the eldest son of the great Fëanáro, who himself was a roaring fire and lent his heat to his sons, and one in turn lent the flames to me.

I begged that the terrible Oath would not follow us. These babes were indeed of the cursed blood of Fëanáro's house, therefore the doom of his house lay upon us regardless. Yet, a small part of my heart had sown hope to myself, that we may be spared if I found repentance and garnered goodwill from the Powers.

At the moment, however, we rested. Gilwarië's armour reflected moonlight into my eyes, and the canvas of my tent quivered as the storm around us raged.

I slept, as did my children. Of what I dreamed, I cannot recall, but when I woke, our way was clear, and we left behind the vast seas of mourning, moving forwards to meet my sister's host.


	2. The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lady thinks about stuff, a baby is named, and Gil says some things...

**The Sea**

If I had thought meeting my sister's host to be difficult, what then should I call meeting my husband's son in all but blood?

Our path took us east, past the silver waters of Lune to the fair port Mithlond, where many of Gilwarië's company took their rest. The Great Battle had come to a dreadful close two years ago, but a blink for us, and the wounds of our many lost dribbled with fresh blood in our hearts, and thus we grew weary. Gilwarië herself remained steadfast in her strides, but upon our single horse, an unnamed mare, black and strong, sat I, both my babes strapped close to my breast.

Their first nights on the road chilled me to the bone for all that that they cried. Even to nurse, they would not calm, and even when I held my son close to his sister, still they cried. I myself began to weep in despair, for, I thought, would they never cease? Would my children never calm long enough to nurse from my breast, thus slowly starving? Perhaps they are in fear of this darkened world around us. Perhaps it was I they feared, lover of Maedhros the Kinslayer, and a murderer in my own right, accompanied by a bloodstained Noldo I called sister, whose cheek flashed viciously with that light which only the _Calaquendi_ possess in _Endórë_. But Gilwarië, who was older than I and had experience with mothering, called a halt, turning to face my tearful eyes and trembling lip.

“Give me the babes, Lady, for they sense your fear and thus fear for their lives.”

I conceded to pass her one, my daughter, who I had known from the beginning was independent, to be rocked gently over Gilwarië’s shoulder. Back and forth she paced, rocking my daughter and patting her bottom. I observed her ministrations and copied her thusly, climbing down from the mare to pace alongside my shield-sister. The girlchild’s cries were now but whimpers blowing with the seabreeze, and her brother sensed the lull and too, he ceased his tears. We four stood along the shores of Lune, a sweet breeze being carried in from the West, and I imagined that my husband’s mother might send her affections to my children, if she ever received news of their existence. This thought brought peace into my being. Soon, we felt heavy with restful silence, both babes pacified and ravenously hungry. My sister pitched my tent swiftly, and though the fruit of Laurelin still flew hotly across the heavens, we sat and ate.

As I ate, I untied the sash at my waist, opening my robes and unbuttoning the over-large tunic beneath. Gilwarië noticed some of its rich golden embroidery on the neck and hem, but said nothing of its eight point star, or the rich scent of male it still carried. Neither did I make mention of my clothing’s origins, but nudged my breast to the lips of my son, who began to nurse at last.

Arien danced across our eyes, and my son took great delight in her golden rays, gazing upon every blade of grass, each butterfly, and watching the gulls soar over the froth as Uinen wrestled the waves from Ossë’s violent grasp. Great excitement overtook me at his joy, and I was again warmed by my beautiful children, and again I mourned that none but I would witness it.

My shield-sister gazed down at my daughter’s hair, as she had since the moment she was born, face brimming with deep and darkened thoughts. I perceived what her mind spoke, for it was a notion often flaring up between us, savage in its truth, yet no less hurtful for being so. I made to speak against her, but always her tongue flew like the Great Eagles, and she uttered her dreadful words once more:

“None shall accept the children of Fëanáro’s cursed house. The blood of kinslayers flows deeply within these two babes.” Her serious blue eyes rose to meet mine, neither in challenge nor in assurance. I was reminded that, in the truest reality, I am alone. “For even your son, whose coloring is your own, will grow and take after the beauty of his father, and he will perish in fire as his father, and _his_ father before him.”

“The Terrible Oath bears no power over them,” I countered, and I removed my breast from my son’s lips. She handed me my daughter without responding, though it was not long after the girl began to nurse also that my sister spoke again.

“I was there when the curse was laid upon _nos Fëanáro_ ; I recall the fury of the waves, dragging down the ships of our slain kin, whom we killed by our own swords in righteous anger. Mine eyes beheld the dark and terrible visage of Mandos over the water, showing us the Doom of the Noldor, and condemning your husband to fire and death. Do _not,”_ her metal clad fist clenched with a creak, “believe yourself to know of things that you did not witness. For while you danced in the forests of Ossiriand, and did not yet know of the evil in Arda, we knew it well, and suffered greatly.”

These words brokered grave offense, for in my mind were the faces of the numerous slain by Morgoth’s foul _urqui_ , and my kin who fled our wilder lands for those more settled, forever scarred by loss and haunted by visages of darkness. Once more I felt darkness cover me, like a cloud of smoke, and I began to suffocate. Red, not black, crept over the edges of my vision, singeing everything with that familiar flame of rage. I very nearly began to weep, but a cry from my nursing daughter caused the choking fumes to diminish, and the fire which consumed myself and my vision vanished like a candle blown out in the night.

Rage had rarely been a flame I tended in the first years of my life. Yet, in these vast nightmares our people suffered, brutalized in the light of day alike to a child's terrors of monsters come to life among us, within me I found, uncovered and raw, rage and other dark things. Their existence frightened me, but through their use lay that searing strength, those precious flames inside and out, swallowing me and driving me forwards always. Rage powered by grief and by desire for revenge…

But those desires I pushed away, for revenge had gotten no one nowhere. All this loss had been caused by revenge and revenge upon _that_ revenge, further and further until each sword pointed itself at its bearer, and the bearer suffered death at his own hand.

Poor Nerdanel, for she took revenge on none, yet still suffered, her sons dead far from home, never to return to her embrace, and her husband a villain among his own people.

"Lady," murmured that voice of Gilwarië's, and it rang of askance. "I spoke without thought. For we all have suffered dearly at the hands of the Evil One, who himself alone is responsible for this destruction. Would that I had taken the place of your husband, as you know I would have done so freely, gladness in my heart, so that you could lay beside him tonight instead of taking company with naught but Varda watching over you." She held my babe close, glaring no longer, but gazing softly at my son's black hair. "Swiftly the memory comes to me of the _Laiquendi,_ who were wary of strangers and hid high in the elms, cloaked against the Enemy's horde. And though your people were weary as well, and trusted us not, still your lord allowed us sanctum in those branches, and somehow we knew a tentative peace with you. Never shall I forget it, and never will that debt be paid by me alone."

As she spoke these words of regret, my heart felt the drizzle of rain, cold and deeply sad, and I knew before any word passed my lips that I had forgiven her, Gilwarië my sister. Simply, I said, "Forgiven are your words, Gilwarië, and the actions of your people, which were caused by that uncontrollable fury that burns in the blood of my children, and in turn caused such uncontrollable sorrow. It is as you said: _we all have suffered dearly at the hands of the Evil One._ Who then, should take the blame but him?" And I leaned close to her side, laying my head upon her chest and wrapping one arm around her waist, breathing deeply of her and taking comfort in the firm hand she held my son with.

It was many hours that we sat in this manner, gazing at the glittering sands below us and the ships of Círdan sailing away in Lune. When night fell, and again Tilion greeted us, we lay back upon the grass. A great calm settled on my lashes, and they drifted close, heavy with peaceful rest. Salt rained on us from Ossës spray, but still I slept, knowing Gilwarië would wake at the merest sound of a beetle upon a leaf, and felt as though no mortal blade or everlasting elven steel could harm us in our rest.

Moonrays bathed my son, now laying on my shoulder between my sister and I, and he opened his eyes to watch Varda sprinkle her heavenly dust across both water and sky. Unbidden, the warrior again called to me, swinging his mighty brand against the Enemy in a furious silver storm, and I knew now what his name should be.

Thus, I whispered to him, "See the Stars above, my son, and know that one day you will honor their light in battle." Grey eyes gazed in awe of a million twinkling lights, then met mine. "Sleep, Telraumë, my son. I am with you."

And we rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gil is not sorry. She just hates to look like the bad guy. Don't believe me? Just you wait...


	3. The Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady thinks some more thoughts, and Gil is kind for the sake of the babes.
> 
> Implied Mummy/Daddy time in this one. Unedited also, so call me out if you spot any fuckery.

**The Mind**

Upon waking, starlike dew blanketing us in the open air, my two children immediately called to nurse. I myself still slept, long exhausted from birth and travel, and yearning for a stream to bathe in, but they were yet clean and strong, demanding to be fed. Gilwarië had gone hunting, for her spear and bow were as disappeared as she, but a fire crackled merrily, bursting with heat enough that my dreams began to drift towards tender memories of passion. However, before I could delve any further into a tall, broad shouldered and red-haired silhouette, I awoke to that pressure in my breasts that signalled the need of my children. Their sweet wails, not yet reaching distressing waves, shook my mind to the present, hastening me to unbutton my tunic yet again while dawn was yet pale and grey.

They nursed in peace, one curled in each of my arms, wrapped still in makeshift nappies cut from an old tunic belonging to my last brother-by-marriage, black in the style that he loved to wear as he played his harp among the soldiers. I had protested to use it so, but in the fiery aftermath of the Great War, where the Eldar alike with the race of Men scattered back towards our havens, burying the dead and searching for the lost, there had been little choice. As he himself had once whispered to me in the wake of the Black Serpent, tending the bubbling skin of his numberless victims:  _ when the Powers go to war, the shape of the earth is changed. _ Cities, forests, mountains, and Elves sank into Úlmo's crashing fist, great seams of fire and sulphur spewed forth from  _ Eä's _ belly, and those who did not perish by flame or water fled eastwards into my home of Ossiriand with little but the clothing upon their backs. Indeed, by the hand of merciful Nienna, whose bitter tears I shared at my plight, we escaped and carried with us a bag each, nothing more. Even the bedraggled, stained robes about my person, billowing in the breeze and reeking still of afterbirth, were a finer raiment than all of Gilwarië's host combined. My precious babes lay in my arms in such fine cloth by no other hand than that of the Great Powers.

That painful light when the blaze of Laurelin's fruit, and the twinkle of Telperion's silver petals flowing in mercurous rays, mingled and twined, casting now on our faces, reminded me of the tales of the Blessed Realm. Too wrought with misery, now, those dreamy visions I laid aside, granting my attention to the babes in each arm, who squirmed vigorously. I knew not their tells, the minute actions and sounds that mother’s use to discern their children’s needs, but the sudden stench coming from those same black linen nappies enlightened me as efficiently as any wail or coo.

At that moment, I felt the presence of another, but the air did not grow heavy or dark around us, nor did the vicious fires within me alight in warning of danger, and so I smiled, speaking gently to my babes as I searched for clean strips of cloth, or else a clean tunic, were none to be found at all. In true fashion of my Noldorin shield-sister, and of most Noldor I had encountered, Gilwarië hauled in her arms small game, expertly slain, already dressed for cooking; not a hair was out of place, gathered neatly atop her head. Her armour had been cleaned and repaired, though its shine had been long worn, withered away like the very shores of sand we camped above. Pristine as one could be, with but a bucket of water to wash with, and yet more weeks of miserable travel, I envied her polite beauty in everything she did, for beauty was inherent of my far kin born across the sea, where the lights of her birth were that of the Trees of Valinor, pure and glorious like no other light. Always, the air was calm around her. In the darkness a halo cast itself around her head as a crown lavished by Eru’s very hand.

Oh yes, jealousy was a vice learned in the company of the  _ Calaquendi, _ and not easily vanquished in these dire times. But she perceived my heart, and knew that I meant no harm to her being, only that I yearned to stand as tall and mighty as the proud and noble Noldor, and possess unearthly beauty in the same hand as I had once held my blade. Wordlessly, she stepped forwards, metal boots crunching over the rocky soil and grasses, and in her fist she offered a skin of water, warm to the touch.

“Water, Lady, from a stream near Lune, for I traveled down the cliffs tracking rabbits and other small things. I boiled it early this morning when I came back, but you were yet asleep. Here.” She handed it to me, and went to spear the meat and set it over the fire.

To that, I said nothing. Shame combusted like the many dark arts of the Evil One over my cheek; she never aimed to correct my senseless contemplations, which stung in its refusal to comfort me.   
  
I cleaned my babes, and we departed as soon as the meat was cooked and eaten.

Many more days we traveled, I upon that nameless mare and Gilwarië on foot, stopping to drink and change my newborns, and then moving on against the flow of the sun and moon. Soon, however, we came suddenly upon Mithlond. The port tugged on the precarious balance of my halved heart, for there in the hills around, growing in such abundance that I wondered whom had given such time to plant them, were crimson blooms of such weighted, rich color that my  _ fëa _ nearly leapt from my body. Such was the color of my daughter’s curls, ringlets of such fire that if she lay in amongst them, the flowers would hide her so thoroughly as if she were a flower herself. It was the red that had mingled with my own dark locks long ago, on pillows long left behind and likely crushed beneath the sea; the same luscious waves I had fisted in my hand in the throes of pleasure, or gazed upon from my seat on his hips. Truly, it was only the sure warmth of my sweet candles bearing the deep blaze of the Spirit within them, yanking and swinging at my soul’s recollection, that my feet were grounded to the earth, and my body did not drop from the back of the mare.

Flashing white and gold in the setting sun, where Arien released her last vestiges of gold, the armour of many dozens of warriors, Noldor and  _ Laiquendi _ alike, clashed and clanked as our host gathered together on the shores in wait. Thus it would be not long that they planned to depart from Mithlond, some of our number into the West, but most into the east, where hearths of our kin, lords and ladies, and simple folk who followed them, filled roofs with hope of a new life in this world so shredded by battle and blood. Many heads were dark, for Gilwarië's kin stood more numerous than the fairer heads of my people. But my shield-sister gave it no thought, for I too had dark hair, strange but not alone of my people to be so, for we were a wild people, and the many ways of the earth were so reflected in us. I led the mare down into the vale, crunching grains of sand underhoof as we approached her captain, and at last, we four had arrived at this beauteous destination through much trial and hardship.

All pains which before had faded with the ever-burning flames of anger and heartbreak, always present within my cleaved  _ fëa _ and weary vessel, thrust itself upon me, and were it not for my swift-footed kin, used to swinging into the branches as fast as one blinks, the fierce flames of the children may have been snuffed out that very day. My body spasmed violently, throwing my arms into the air and sending both son and daughter into the throng around us while I pitched into the side, falling upon an ellon who gathered me into his arms. Shouts accompanied the shrill screams of my babes, but not even that damned, raging blaze rendering me into smoldering ash could waken my spirit from exhausted slumber. The pains of birth crept back up my spine, clenching in my belly, and a heavy stone cast itself into my temple, where wave after wave of dreamless nightmares dragged me under with all violence.

Distantly, I spared a thought to my babes, screaming and crying out in fear, their very  _ fëar _ scrabbling for purchase along the craggy cliffs of my own jagged spirit. But at last, I found rest, and a darkness deep and weightless, like the agony of a severed bond, consumed me, until there was aught but myself, a foggy glow of two small candles, and a fast approaching ball of molten earth, nauseating in its heat and brilliance.

I was incinerated, and I thought,  _ I have died. Forgive me, husband, for I have left our babes alone. _

Nothing spoke, and I burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this bc I wanted to fuck Big Red, but honestly the unposted chapters sitting in my doc are slowly giving the pen over to Gil, and Gil has her own story to tell. My own characters are staging a coup, and Lady is A-Okay with it.
> 
> Daughter will be named soon.
> 
> The line, "When the Powers go to war, the shape of the earth is changed" comes from the beautiful fic "War of the Ring" by morwen_of_gondor. It's an incredible line, and I couldn't resist pinching that little bit.


	4. The Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady is dreaming of... Well... Some damn good lovin'.
> 
> Contains Explicitly Described Hetero Sexy Times™️. Choking is a thing.... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**The Body**

Dreaming lent itself to memory. Nothingness overtook me, floating aimlessly in the outer reaches, the Void where Morgoth, then Melkor, had dwelt in banishment. But though the Flame Eternal did not reach me, it flickered still within. My innermost mind found discarded scraps and stitched them together in one bright, vivid dream, and here I lay finally, gazing as though I were a spirit upon myself in days past.

In this shimmering recollection, I stood on a branch so high that most of my clan would not dare to climb, and I was alone, cloaked in green against the eyes of the Enemy. Still, a rich voice called to me from below, and I knew it well. The Prince of the Noldor, named in our tongue Maedhros, who was relentless in battle but hesitant in matters of love, often followed me like a blushing maid does her object of affection. From my chest I heaved a great sigh, my heart a flutter, and I swung from the branch carelessly, allowing myself to fall freely through the air until I reached the lowest arms of the elm on which I stood. There, at the roots of my tree, stood Lord Maedhros, ever armed and his armour polished to a shine matched in his gleaming eyes. I cast my gaze away, thinking not of how his shoulders were nearly as wide as my arms held out straight, nor of his hair like the wavering red moons that come so rarely over _Eä._ Instead, I sought to study the mud on his boots, and he in turn studied mine.

I spoke first of us, as was the custom that we unwittingly set between us in such time that we met alone in the forests.

"Lord," I murmured demurely.

"Please," he countered, all part of the dance we constructed, "call me by my name, for your lord I am not, nor do I seek to be."

Now the move was mine to make, and my tendencies to push any boundary laid before me reared its head in my heart, and the desire of my soul kindled that ravenous flame. I raised my gaze to meet his, and he matched it eagerly so that we stared like hungry beasts at the other unblinking. Again, I spoke first.

"Maedhros, why do you seek me so? None other but you traces my shadow through the trees, or calls me down from my perch in the canopies; nor do they ask of me to wait for them in the night under a secluded willow or a hollowed rock, that we might be alone, together. None other but you gathers the spring blooms around the rivers, twining them into crowns and gowns and sashes for my waist, and you alone seek my voice above all others in song, or offer a book for me to read aloud. What is your reason for desiring my humble heart, where you might have had the highest ladies of your people?"

Maedhros, desire of my heart, offered me a grin so confident, so sure of its bearer, that even if he had insulted me or my clan, I may have still gone to one of those secret places with him. And the words that he uttered so ferociously stoked the flames in both our _fëar_ that his silver eyes blazed with surprise at himself.

"When first I glimpsed your form, my breath caught. When I heard your song, my heart leapt. When you read, I sensed your thirst for knowledge, and I thirst to know you. I will be your husband, or else I must follow your footsteps to the ends of the earth, for I cannot be apart from you. My desire is for you where there was none before. Do you also desire me?" He blinked, so utterly confounded by those raucous words, yet he composed himself and went on. "Will you not take the hand of the Merciful Lady, and a page from the books of the poets in Valinor, and allow me to take you to wife this night? The hour is late, both now and in these grievous times, and none can say when war will be upon us."

Whatever I may have said in return glazed like thick honey in my throat, and I drowned in it as my desirous heart sought to escape my chest. I spoke not, but nodded in assent, and suddenly felt very small before Maedhros, called the Tall, son of the very Spirit of Fire who was named for the heat pouring forth from his blood. That same fire I would have loved to dance with, and when he took my hand and led my away, I went willingly. In a blur of motion, we ran, hands clutching each other tightly, and breath rattling our chest, for in secret we would do this, and a secret we would keep it for many years.

Our path, unmarked but sure, took us to the curtain of a willow where Maedhros had bid me meet him under, and we had had a picnic of fruit while I read of his many books aloud to him, who mouthed the words known to him already. Here, now, on this night, we paused, hands still clasped, and breathed each other's scent. I knew not what he could smell on me, and I prayed that I did not reek of the dirt and forest leaves, as my love smelled of that heavy scent of male, where sweat and musk mingle with the bark of our trees.

Fear did not find me when he pulled me close against his chest, our bodies pressed together in voracious hunger, the edges of my conscience dwindling into ash like wood placed into a furnace. Instead, I met his eyes and reached boldly into his hair with an iron grip never used against another, the same fist I grasped my bow during a hunt, for hunting I was now, and my prey was before me, gasping at my rough hand. With his flaming waves caught, I pulled him down, down, down, for though the Eldar are given great height, Maedhros was called Tall with reason. My lips opened to meet with his, and we danced, feeling the wet glide of his tongue against mine, so unknown yet welcome, so _lusted for._

Even so, we tired of kisses, inflamed from our bellies, and a slight tingle traveled from my spine down into my fruits. Shivers wracked my body. I was a tree trembling against towering winds whipping across all four corners of Arda, but I stood strong anyways. Gracelessly, I drew us both into the brush, laying out our cloaks over stones and briars, pulling still on Maedhros' hair. A strange power over the son of Fëanáro must have lain waste to my control, for I near wrestled him to the ground, pushing my palms into his chest from my seat astride his waist.

Maedhros stared at my darkened brow in amazement, unmoving except for the bellows of his lungs. He allowed me to wrangle his hands to my hips, gripping me as though I were indeed the Cursed Jewels that he endlessly sought, gently tending the flames I begat in us. One hand yet still tangled in his hair, I drew myself down like deer unto water, drinking deeply of him again and sating my thirst with laps of my tongue to his lips, and Maedhros, who lay stricken with lust, answered me heavily. Strong, battle-hardened fingers dug into my flesh with bruising effort, and I realized we both still lay clothed. With force I broke our kiss, and commanded him thusly,

"Undress, Maedhros, and take your pleasure.”

Nothing more was spoken between us. Maedhros hurriedly unstrapped his steel armour, casting each gleaming plate to the side like shaving off a carved twig, and the glory of Tilion sent his mail a-twinkle. While he wrested his outer layers of rough leather onto the ground, I reached for the laces of his boots, making quick work of them and slipping his feet from them. They joined the growing pile of clothing, until he was left with his innermost tunic, which lay longer in the front and back than at his sides, covering his manhood and revealing to me his thighs, and a ring on his finger emblazoned with the star of _nos Fëanáro._ Mine eyes drank in his person, for my mouth burned, parched as I was in this heat. Flames seemed to tear at the very ground around us, and ashen wisps of willow branches fell around us. Maedhros was beautiful, I’d known, and here under me, panting and aroused, his member erecting itself as he watched my heaving chest and wild curls whip around my face, I thought perhaps beauty could not describe him if the Valar had carved him by their own hand, and Varda had hallowed him as blessedly as she had the Three Jewels.

His hands found my hips again, and my fruits met his manhood through the white linen of his tunic. Hot and firm against me, and sensitive that I was to his touch, I heaved a moan from my belly, and divested myself of my stiff leather armour and many green lady’s robes. He watched hungrily until I, clad in a light summer tunic with buttons down the back, sat astride him once more, hands twirling his fiery locks around each finger. Our cores met hotly, bumping with abandon as I rolled my hips against his, pulling great gasps and groans from the Prince's throat.

We lay like that for many minutes, enjoying the other’s heat, rubbing our fruits against each other and embracing in the grass while the sweeping willow guarded our secret place in the evening. As the sun gave her last hurrah, we released our breaths, for our mouths had been locked in righteous battle, and Maedhros made to sit up. Once more my hands pushed at his wide chest, _daring_ him to protest; but he did not, laying back down and moving his hands off my hips to grasp my breasts. One of my palms left his hair at last, wandering instead to his throat, brushing against it curiously, softly, dangerously. His breath hitched, and I seized his neck before he could shift his head away. Squeezing lightly along the sides, where his pulse pumped rapidly in my palm, I grinned manically at his wide silver eyes, for I knew he did not protest the action. In fact, I felt his member grow straighter just in front of my core, and it stood now fully erect, flushed to the tip and enticing me to taste. Each squeeze pried his mouth open wider, astonished at the ferocity in my mastery of his body. Thus we ignited one another again, and as I choked him, his lip lifted smugly, bearing a hint of teeth in mischief. For but one moment I blinked in wonderment, and then was startled by my own tunic being shredded by his bare hands. The worn white fabric flew far past the curtain of willow around us, to be discovered with Arien’s first light.

In retaliation, I yanked Maedhros up to me by the laces of his tunic, untying and pulling until they were but a ribbon in my fist, tossed into his pile of clothes to be forgotten, or maybe used to restrain him later this night. Now my lover sat, nude, with his house’s ring scalding my breast where he still fondled me, pinching their peaks and pushing them together over his face, inhaling deeply of my scent as if he could smoke it as the Khazad do with certain plants, stuffed into a pipe. Sudden scalding fires laved at them, encircling the peaks, and I gasped as his red tongue licked and his mouth sucked on my flesh, never once breaking our locked gaze.

Oblivion reached his tendrils of blindness around my eyes, and jolted me with sudden pleasure. A calloused thumb had released my bosom to rub lightly over the seed of fruit, spreading my slickness over the petals and _pushing, by Eru,_ and another finger pushed into my core, twisting and pulling out only to find its way back in. My hips continued their undulating rhythm against his member, and for just a moment I rolled forwards enough for him to part my fruit’s petals, pressing into my body just enough to drag a loud, filthy moan from Maedhros’ ministrations, and a pleasured wail from my throat. My fingers clenched at the thunderous bolts of lightning which practically lacerated my spine and wrung my belly. Maedhros rolled his eyes up into his skull until nearly all the silver was hidden behind waving tendrils of red locks, my breasts forgotten in his pleasure, and damn near slamming his pelvis into mine. With all the strength in my body and the all-consuming, Eru-granted and maintained fire, calling upon every Power that had sung the whole of _Eä_ into being through their holy might and the hand of Ilúvatar, I seized his hair again with one warrior’s fist and pinned his body back towards the earth, placing my hips just so over his, and filled my sweet and slick fruit with his manhood. A shrill, wretched cry of passion braised the air, his or mine I do not remember.

The rhythm of our hips never ceased, and we became like crashing waves against the dire cliffs of western Beleriand, slashed to and fro by Ossë’s mighty arm in the depths. I rode his manhood, enduring the stretch of my entrance around him, engulfed in his scent, his _fëa,_ his arms, the waves, and the visceral fire passed from his father, his grandfather, and from The Maker himself, spewing forth in great streams which blasted the very foundations of the earth. For a brief and annoying second, I wondered if these things were felt by Maedhros’ mother as she loved and made love to her husband, whose flame was unending even in the wake of his demise, alive and crackling in the blood of his sons. I wondered on our other sisters-in-law, who had married and loved some of his brothers, and if the loving between them had hurled them into the great furnaces of the Smith, or else gone up in frivolous smoke. As soon as I thought of them, I buried their memories, focusing on Maedhros’ hot breath between my breasts, his right arm holding me close, and his left hand still thumbing at my sensitive seed.

Friction synthesized swelling pleasure, and something deep in my core began to coil, taut as my bow’s string pulled tight, arrow readied. Maedhros too began to stiffen, thrusting deeply into my body from below, but his rhythm began to stutter, his breath hitching, and he gasped suddenly. I released his neck to plant that hand on his chest with my other, and he breathed deeply for the first time since I had begun to choke him, yet still chose to bury his face in my bosom, sucking and mouthing and moaning. I cried out, scaring off some small animal that flew from the willow’s curtain, for my lover’s thrusts began anew -- hard, vicious, merciless and so very wanted. My moans deepened to wanton groans, gruff and growling, and Maedhros wailed with each bounce of my body against his.

Within my belly, something released. His thumb circled and rubbed until I screamed to the stars, a filthy prayer to Varda, Lady of the Stars, as that bowstring sent an arrow out into the heavens to burst in great colors across all Arda. Surely the whole of Ossiriand knew what this old willow hid this night, my cries of pleasure, of climax, echoing through the trees, like a drum of rolling thunder. Beneath me, Maedhros basked in my pleasure, his eyes, having shut to hear me sing, opened now, dazzled. He did not quit his movements into me, and I rode the waves as I had ridden him; in control, yet swept away by some primal, delicious madness. In the end, he joined me upon a cloud, flung far into the skies with a scream, and laying waste to my body. He spilled, nay, he _surged_ into my fruits, and now I was certain all of Arda, from the depths of the sea to the fires below it, and to the highest reaches of Manwë’s crown, knew that Maedhros, son of Fëanáro, The Spirit of Fire and son of King Finwë, son of Ilúvatar the Maker, who sings all we see and know into existence, had been made a husband, and he had made me a wife.

I do not recall now long we lay there, nude, upon our cloaks, the desirous flames now sated and cooled to a smolder. My brown eyes found Maedhros’ steely gaze, warmed now though we now dwindled, and I saw a contentment never before present in them.

“Wife,” he said simply. “You are… my wife.” He could scarcely believe it, I saw in his thoughts and perceived in his heart. “I am your husband, and I love you fiercely.”

“Then love me, and allow me to love you also, husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...porn, anyone?
> 
> No one but me asked for this. So I wrote it. Choking happened because.. well this is a self insert if y'all ain't noticed, and I rather like to have my partners know who's their daddy (◕ᴗ◕✿)
> 
> Back to regularly scheduled programming next Wednesday!!


	5. The Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Lady tries to get a word in, but Gil is Having A Mental Breakdown™️ and thus Doesn't Want To Hear It™️

**The Words**

Sunlight cut through my closed lids. Reluctant to open them, I chose instead to lay tangled in the sheets, allowing the crackle of fire and residual pleasure to flush my skin. Gilwarië’s streams of calm swirled around me so, lending her steadfastness, the trueness of her heart, into sweet rest. At last, as hot golden sunrays began to peak, air wavered above the stone sill. I knew then that I must try to stir, though my very being suffered still from a troublesome birth followed by such hard travel, even after two years. Wakefulness in all its sharp torment needled my head, swelling to a throb, and then to thunderous pain, and my belly and spine lanced with aches. Nausea threatened to weaken me further. I knew this torture. I did not entertain it. I only forced myself into awareness.

Alas, as a new mother, I found I had certain responsibilities which I was unaccustomed to. Firstly, the slight ache in my breasts, again full, and my son’s gentle coos from my sister’s arms. Telraumë’s sweet laughter, at which my heart leapt joyously, quickly devolved into those wails which I dreaded, and my daughter simply quieted from her babbling, awake also and whole, laying on a cushion. Secondly, there was Gilwarië herself, turned to face me, seated on the smooth stone floor, face blank and unbearable in her judgement. Lastly, was the terrible realization that while my weakening  _ fëa _ reclined in some unknown spiritous plane, languishing yet emboldened by such soul-scorching dreamlike memory, my fragile babes had been left behind.

Terrible echoes of days past, where two other elflings had been abandoned by their mother, left to face their years alone, fates unknown, speared me mercilessly. And I deserved the grief it wrought. What sort of mother was I, then, that I allow myself to float aimlessly upon waves of glorious current, restful in those few moments of sweet nothingness, while my sweeter flames vie for attention they are entitled to? Indeed, I deserved the steely glare of my sister, for the manner of mothering I seem to have taken to left bitter bile on my lips, and shame ignited between us.

Gilwarië deigned my downcast eyes to be beneath her scope of attention, for her hair whipped about her head, and once more did she gaze into the dying hearth, rocking my crying babe. “Two days have you slept, Lady. In the meantime, the babes have been cared for by myself and the healers. They are whole.” She tossed this last remark over her shoulder, caring not where it landed: “The same cannot be said of you.”

“I know,” I managed thinly. “Gilwa--”

“Speak not to me of your blubbering excuses, my Lady!” My shield-sister, always by my side, lost what slivers she still possessed of patience for my many failures, and decided then to cast them into the embers before her. “Endlessly I chase after you, excusing you myself! From the very beginning, you sprint over reason and sense on your toes, cheerfully ignoring that which truly is. For someone so hardened by the steel of Morgoth's fist, daughter of a people who learned to hide and flee rather than fight foolishly against the black hordes, the reach of your stupidity knows no bounds!

_ "How can you be this way!?" _ Her exclamation pierced me as an arrow to the eye. "How can such selfishness come from one so generous as you, my lady? Always you find a way to be a victim, even if you are not aware, and foolishly I allow it, encourage it, stoking a flame which grows more bitter in my heart than any Doom or Oath.

"From the first I thought to excuse you!  _ 'She is young,’ _ I thought to myself, when you lingered your gaze too long upon the stately Prince.  _ ‘She is young and my lord cares not for such things.’ _ When you emerged from the trees, eyes alight with some new glimmer, and content to wander the vines and peek under stones for nothing, close to our settlements, I again told myself that you were just a sweet young lady of the forest, your strangeness unknowable.”

Gilwarië scarcely breathed, such was this simmering fury, unleashed now in venomous spires. “When I attended my Prince, tracing his footsteps, watching his gaze meet yours increasingly, some grinning mystery shared between you, I again excused you, saying  _ ‘My Lord Maitimo, Prince of this host and loremaster, steady-burning and virtuous in his exile and many grave deeds; can he not be allowed a bit of this? Can he not be allowed a touch to his hand under a tree, or a laugh from this waif-like nymph, who leaves her people’s company high among these branches to meet him beside rivers and teach him the language of birds and of flowers?’ _

“Did I not guard him, and advise him, as was my duty, to the darkness growing, the hosts of Valinor approaching these eastern lands, so that we might make our move? For his mind lay ever with the Jewels, which he and his sought after endlessly, bound by such loathsome words, and pained by every twitch against them. And just as I foreknew that this road would be hard, and saw in my mind’s eye that you would bear great pain, then unknown in nature, I said nothing. I said  _ nothing!”  _ She screamed it, placing Telraumë next to his sister, and swivelling to face me. Black rage, unlike anything my eyes had experienced, tainted the Flame Eternal, which mingled now with her blazing spirit, the fire of the  _ Calaquendi _ laying fear in my heart. “I said nothing! Once more, through those compiled years the two of you wove deception and fed it to us all as one spoons broth to a babe, I forged excuses.  _ ‘For we do not wed in times of war. For my Prince, whom I follow and advise, and who heeds me in the midst of these uncertain days, bears single-minded focus on the goals of our people. For the Prince Makalaurë, who shares brotherly council with my liege lord, would have a care to guide our leader forwards. _ Bah! What foolishness I drank of, filled as full as each of those seven damned rivers! Much was spoken in defense of these many idiotic hallucinations of love, yet nothing was uttered when faced with its consequences."

Wrath held not the power to describe what ripped and shredded me, and still on she spoke, refusing my half-hearted protest. Had I not just told myself I deserved this very judgement, now handed to me swiftly? When I had been put on trial, I could not say. I bore these awful, poisonous words anyway.

“My Lady, did I not love you? Did you not seek us all out, learning our ways, reading our books, weaving for us sweet smelling circlets of lemongrass and golden roses? Did we all not love you? How could we not, when you climbed down, no longer callous to our plight as your lords were, and extended your arm to grasp ours? And how could Prince Maitimo not love you? You who were guarded, and glanced not at his squires or his captains in disdain. You cared for little except the patrols under your command, yet held a softness in your heart for our host, and showed us the lay of the land. Showed us where we might dig in our weary heels, where our tents might be placed in easily defensible alcoves and clearings. O Beloved Nymph of Ossiriand, armored against the Hordes of Morgoth with but plated leather and robed in Maitimo’s fine silk, wild and light footed in the elms! I pledged myself to you both!” she sobbed, and fat tears seemed to flood our seaside chambers.

Rage spent, my sister gave in to misery, but I did not dare to move from my bed, or to offer soft assurance, or even place my hand on her shoulder. Great heaving sobs, hiccuping, sickening in their sorrow, caused the same in me. But I remained frozen, and Gilwarië continued this assault.

“Oh Lady, the many excuses I lent to you, to my Prince! For even when he refused my words, and instead chased you once more into the forested nights, and we heard the faraway calls of your impassioned love, I did not falter in my devotion. I blinded myself to the whimsical power you held over him, ignored the wicked grip of your hand around his  _ fëa. _ And so did my lord, and caught himself between the Oath sworn in Valinor and renewed in Beleriand, and the endless thrall of fantasy you both called love!”

I chanced a glance, hurting deeply, at my shield-sister. She had not looked away, no matter the reckless streams of tears, a tide not reversed with any amount of gilded words I ever could have given her.

She breathed deeply, hitching breaths, and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. I broke our gaze first, cowed by the fires of the Trees a-glow in her countenance, the likes of which were rarely revealed by those born across the Great Sea. She spared a moment to look upon my babes, who squirmed silently in the face of her anger and sorrow, and something hard became soft in her eyes.

"Lady," she whispered. "My dearest Lady, so young on this Earth, but so sure in all you do. Never did you think about any consequences for your actions. Not when you lent aid to us, not when you fell in such deep love, not when you lay with your lover, not when you chanced to follow the Noldorin host into bitter wars.

"Gently your hand brushed the hair of the half-elven boys, and your heart grew fuller still. Did you think of their midnight hair as you gazed upon Maitimo's fire, filling yourself with his seed and conceiving these two as they appear now? You thought of bearing children in the midst of war, not realizing what it means to be a mother, not knowing that such pain accompanies the Noldor wherever we trod. Again, I reminded myself,  _ 'But she is just young.' _

"Woe to you, Lady of the Tree Elves. Never have you wondered what may happen to those who associate with the Cursed. The Doomed. Now you lay, wasting away, denying the very truth of your demise, which is long overdue but for the furnace of your womb and the powerful willfulness of those children born as the island of Men rises from the water. I meant those things I spoke upon the cliffs; I would have given myself in sacrifice if I thought it would spare you. But to love a son of cursed Fëanáro is to bring wrath slamming down upon your head. 

"Go now, nurse your babes! Do not dare to speak to me, for I have watched the rise and fall of many whom I loved, and nearly did so thrice more again. I cannot bear to hear what excuse may be offered this time. You are young and stupid no longer! Be silent and rest, and hold the last bastions of hope I have close to your breast."

What was there to say to that?

I did as I was bid. Though I was a lady in the wild fashions of the forest folk, and she now laid low to little more than a nursemaid, watching after me and mine children, I bore her terrible glare for one moment. It cowed me again.

Where had my strange innate boldness gone? Where was the challenger? Where was the fire now?

I spoke not, as Gilwarië had demanded, and gathered my daughter to nurse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this one. Gil is Losing It™️ and Lady... Well she just wants to sleep. Preferably forever.
> 
> I had a bit of dialogue referencing Míriel's... well... death, but it is not yet the right time to insert into the fic. Just stay tuned for more Mentally Unstable Gil, Half-Alive Lady, and the niños.


	6. The Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby is named on the beach.

**The Shores**

Numerous weeks passed in Mithlond. Those furious blossoms across the hills withered not, for spring was upon us properly now, washing over us exactly as the waves did. On this day I walked down a narrow path, toting my children in a small pilfered wagon, nestled into fresh new gowns and proper nappies, travelling towards the beach. Weak though my body was, the promise of solitude and saltwater drew me from my rooms.

Never before the sinking had I witnessed the raw power of the sea. Thunderous sprays clattered, nibbling pieces off distant cliffsides and lapping sand off the shore. Even its voice was powerful, at once a whistle of wind and a growl from the bellies of the deep.

 _Somewhere down there are the Jewels,_ I thought traitorously.

Word had reached us here at the port of the fate of the Silmarilli. One, I had suspected, clenching the muscles of my left hand in remembrance, a phantom pain associated with severed bonds and the existence of my children. The other, however, was news, and the whereabouts of my brother-by-marriage lay unknown among our kin.

It was not the way of my people, so-named the _Laiquendi,_ to pray often to any of the Powers save Star Giver, or Lady Merciful, or Lord of the Waters; we did not pray to Illuvatar. However, I found myself praying desperately that the Lord of the Deep, of whom I'd had no concept or foreknowledge, had shown a semblance of mercy to gentle Makalaurë, either granting a swift death or bearing him up from the seas I presumed he'd sunk within. Unacknowledged yet understood vaguely in the confines of my heart, I also pleaded he be guided here, no matter what sharp, silver bladed welcome he may receive, if only that I may be not alone in my grief.

_Perhaps I should cast myself into the seas and meet him, my only brother._

_No. I cannot. My children…_

_...do not need me. Someone else could care for them, one who is wiser and not broken in body and spirit._

_The waters smell so sweet…_

_But a taste… and then the nothingness I love so much..._

_No._ Shaking myself of those terrible thoughts, I resumed my pace with new resolve. The borrowed wagon clattered upon loose gravel stones, rocking my daughter and son and causing their babbling voices to waver, like a hiccup. Such sounds still brought wonderment to me. Had I truly conceived these two flickering candles? If I had not been there myself at the many attempts to create them, or at the night of their birth, I would not believe it so.

Sweet Telraumë rolled over into his stomach, burbling baby speak at his sister who grasped at tight, fuzzy ringlets of raven hair. Her own ringlets, silky smooth like Maedhros', gleamed in his fist. Before I could react or pull them apart, both babes yanked as hard as their infant arms could.

The wailing could be heard all the way back up the path, ringing off the stone buildings.

At long last, cradling both babies in my arms, juggling the wagon's lead and regretting my choice to disappear on Gilwarië, we made it to a patch of sand. Telraumë blamed his sister for the fight, I perceived, and in response she reached for his hair once more. "No," I said simply, setting her down in the wagon and removing the also pilfered basket, filled with bread, pears, and soft cheese. I left her there, where she kicked her legs into the air defiantly. Telraumë I set upon the shore, quickly shaking out a sheet to sit on before he ate too much sand. Indeed, if I had not birthed both of these children myself, I would wonder if they were truly mine.

"No," I said again, laying out the pears on a linen napkin. "You are indeed my children. None other but my blood would pull hair like that." The joke was lost on them, for they could not understand speech yet. Telraumë spat globules of sand on my toes as his sole answer. My daughter had rolled over to peek over the lip of the wagon, glaring at me through her wild hair. "Oh yes, there is no greater proof that you are my children."

Eventually I was forced to remove my daughter from the wagon ere she leapt out herself. I cautiously laid her beside her brother, and they clasped hands as though they had never fought or pulled strands of hair from each other's heads. Once again, I watched red hair tangle with dark, though truly Telraumë's was shot through with threads of rich browns and glazed coppers, making me wonder if it would lighten over time. Perhaps to a deep toasty auburn, like the tiny portraits of my beloved's youngest brothers.

Where Telraumë's hair was darker like mine, my unnamed daughter had such vibrant red it hurt to watch it gleam in the light of Anar. They looked nothing alike, my two babes, except for their bronze skin, inherited from myself, and the flashing silver of their eyes. Both were large, however. I was sure they would grow quite tall, perhaps even of a height to their father. Many nights I had prayed for my daughter's red hair to darken; she would be beautiful with earthy brown curls or tar black ringlets. Instead, we awoke each night and felt sorrow, Gilwarië and I, upon finding that her hair had not mystically altered its hue.

My daughter kicked her tiny feet into the air, eating sand found in Telraumë's fist. "No, darling. Have a pear instead." I squished a bit into a blob of paste, and gathered some onto the very top of my finger. Barely a lick even for a babe of her size. She ate it eagerly, and scrunched her face up. "Well it's all there is here, unless you want milk, daughter."

She passed gas in response.

I giggled, and stretched my legs out towards the waves. My outer tunic, sturdy fabric woven of grasses from Ossiriand, had been beaten until fresh and clean. Now it lay on the sand, along with my worn travel cape and boots. Salty breezes caressed my skin through another of Maitimo's light tunics -- really more of a shapeless gown on me -- and the leggings given me when I woke in our room.

It was freeing, I think, to be alone. Often, in my forest home, I was attended by handmaidens in the caves where we dwelled, and accompanied by my fellow watchers and hunters when out among the trees. Rare was the day that I would find a spare moment to sneak away, and in later years, it was to sneak away into a tryst with Maitimo. Once it was discovered that we had bonded to one another, Gilwarië had been assigned to my honor guard, and never again have I been alone.

Peace found me.

Waves crept higher and higher as I picnicked on those fat pears and creamy cheese on bread. Ocean music lulled me into reverie. I saw, again, Maitimo. With him stood Brother Makalaurë, and we walked with Gilwarië across the sands. The twins were running ahead, pudgy toddlers still in diapers, and they scooped up crabs and studied the flight of stars and seagulls. My daughter's hair gleamed, catching fire in the sun. She was beautiful. She turned to look at me, and was suddenly an elleth, grown and tall and very strong. She halted, letting baby Telraumë toddle away, and waited for me to catch up to her, and held my face.

_"Hate me not. You are all that I have."_

She was more beautiful than any I had seen, and looked so very like my lost husband that I woke from reverie in tears. "My beautiful flame… my Vanárwië."

My babes watched me. Telraumë raised a fist to the air. "Nana."

"W-what?" Had he…

I crawled closer. "What did you say, Telraumë?"

He did not speak again. Vanárwië's hair caught fire, just like the vision I had sunk into. _Hate me not. You are all that I have._

"Pitiful _nis,_ you'll age me like an _Atani_ before this year is through!" Rapid boot steps shifted the sand behind me, and Gilwarië appeared, angry. "You think you are strong, but you are not! What if you had fainted once more, my lady? Who would save them?"

Uncharacteristic bitterness poisoned my tongue. "Not you, for you do not care for the children of your wayward mistress." I tossed my hair, turning away from her scowl.

She scoffed. "I care for the wellbeing of the House of Fëanáro, and the heirs of my lord Prince. One brainless Nando is no scuff in my boots."

"This brainless Nando is the reason you even have a purpose. If I had perished in battle you would have been lost. If I'd perished in childbirth you would have been stuck. If I perish by the sea you will live in regret." It was cruel, but I felt justified. My temper flared, and I felt a bit of spark return to me. "You have nothing but me, and _that_ is your own fault."

Gilwarië stares at me. I got a painfully sharp impression that my barbed words had struck a newly raw nerve. She shut her mouth with a click and turned her face away, lifting trembling hands to rub at her eyes. Regret of my own peeked through cracks in my weak armor. But it was right of me, to attack her thus when she had spent these last weeks berating me and suffocating me. Me, who felt more at home in this unknown place, this _beach_ and this _seaside town_ just because it was free. Because it was open. So used to the freedoms to come and go as I wished, and ordering my soldiers and handmaidens about, that I could not abide by her knowing imprisonment. Let Gilwarië weep into her cloak. Let _her_ feel the pain of fact this once.

Vanárwië gave an unsure bleat, asking if her two mothers were well. The comment was so absurd that I burst out laughing. Gilwarië whipped around, affronted, but I raised a hand in mirth.

"I do not laugh at you! She asked if her mothers were well! Isn't that funny? Two mothers!"

Gilwarië's face went carefully blank, as usual, yet I was distantly uneasy by it. "I suppose… she knows no father, after all." My shield sister stepped closer warily. " _Are_ you well? You have been missing for a few hours."

I allowed my grin to fade and slip away, turning to gather my son and daughter to me. Immediately, they both nuzzled around my chest, mouths searching for my breast. Gilwarië stared at my bared skin, watching the little ones suckle greedily.

"Are you well?"

"For now. Is it so wrong to yearn for what I'm accustomed to?" A sea breeze wafted over us. My flaming daughter unlatched from my breast and yawned, then went back to eating. "Ossiriand has been spared. Can we not return?"

Gilwarië sat, reaching a pale finger to twirl one red curl around it. "Nay. There is nothing there for us any longer. I am called kinslayer by the Falmari, and you are despised by your people the Green Elves. No, we must continue towards our destination."

 _Elrond._ We had a name for him in our tongue, which translated simply to Silence. He was quiet, thoughtful, and the first one to call me mother. Or aunt, if he had decided that day I bothered him too often. Silence was my least favorite of the twin _peredhel_ children Maitimo had fostered under the trees of my lands. Our tempers were opposite, and his constant stream of calm and reason caused me great irritation. And yet, of the twins, he was the most accepting of me. Of us. My people. He bore more compassion in his smallest finger than the whole of _Endorë_ could in this age, and because of this, we ventured towards the house of his Lord.

"Little Silence will welcome you. He always has."

I did not doubt such at all.

It was the welcome of Gil Galad that I feared would be cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to force myself to shred out 3 sentences a week because writer's block HAD me. But I have a good support system, and amazing pals. Thank them, not me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second time I ventured into this intimidating fandom. You all are motherfucking badasses and then here is me, small and round and very prone to nervous breakdowns. My other Silm fic, I deleted, because I just had no idea what to do with it. But this one is already 1/3 of the way done and it's haunting my dreams like no other fic ever did in my goddamn life yo.
> 
> Another one for SolainRhyo, because when one writer writes, the others will too, and she sure as shit got me writing again.
> 
> I'm flying by the seat of my pants, but my childhood consisted of elves, Animal Planet, and four kids in a wardrobe, so I'm determined to make this one kinda good.
> 
> Anyway, troll me in the comments.
> 
> \-- Ramasili (and yes, I'm sticking with that name forever now)


End file.
